


Una flor para ti

by asylumsession



Series: OC Oneshots [3]
Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Alternate Universe - Flower Shop, F/M, Flower Language, flower shop au, mostly fluff again
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-31
Updated: 2017-08-31
Packaged: 2018-12-21 22:41:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,974
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11954184
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/asylumsession/pseuds/asylumsession
Summary: In which Ludwig is very intrigued by the nameless woman that visits his shop everyday.





	Una flor para ti

**Author's Note:**

> Another super late Valentine's gift for one of my other friends (I swear I wrote it forever ago; I was just too lazy to post it). Based off of the sentence prompt, “I work as a florist and every day you walk in, buy one flower, and give it to me.” I ended up changing it a lot, though. Like honestly, I'm not even sure if the prompt applies anymore. xD

Ludwig Beilschmidt isn't completely sure what to think about her. The first time she comes in, he hardly glances up for anything other than to welcome her to the shop with the usual, admittedly catchy slogan. (He later supposes that slogans are supposed to be ridiculously catchy; they're known as catchphrases for a reason.) As always, Ludwig assumes the usual; she is out getting flowers for a family member or a significant other or something to brighten up her home. She doesn't seem as though she's in mourning or anything, so he doesn't pause to consider it might be a funeral.

She buys a lavender rose the first time.

“Do you know what roses represent?” She asks.

Ludwig slowly lifts his head, momentarily allowing confusion to flit across his features as though he is wondering if she is addressing him or not.

(In his defense, he's not really accustomed to questions like that – the only things people ask him are things like the kind of flowers they should get for Valentine's day, or occasionally angry significant others. Ludwig isn't even any good at helping with that, if he's being honest.)

Upon realizing she is looking directly at him, Ludwig clears his throat awkwardly. “Where I come from, a bouquet of red roses is a way of proclaiming your love,” he tells her, “but I'm not sure about lavender.”

“Hm,” she says, and he can't quite read her expression before she's leaving, weaving the dethorned rose into the dark hair by her ear.

Ludwig realizes a moment too late that she did not pay, until he sees the money placed on top of a yellow sticky note where the rose sat previously. The note simply contains two dots and an upward curving line – a smiley face.

He disregards it the first time.

\-- :) --

Ludwig Beilschmidt isn't entirely sure what to think about her. The fourth time she comes in, he's almost expecting it. She breezes in, dark brown hair in waves over her shoulders and a different beanie on her head today – it's a different one everyday. This time, he looks up when he greets her. It's nothing strange, just the usual greeting, slogan and all. He never did find out why she bought the flower the first time.

She buys a light red carnation the fourth time.

This time, she approaches the counter. After the first time, he'd scolded her about paying properly. Even if she'd simply laughed and carried on, she'd started paying normally after the second time. She twirls the little flower in her hand, molten amber eyes flicking up to meet his blue ones.

He averts his first, acting as though fixing a flower arrangement a customer had ordered is suddenly the most important thing on his mind. She doesn't say anything for a moment, but suddenly she stops her twirling and inhales. He knows what's coming – it's the same question she asks when she comes in everyday.

(Actually, Ludwig finds himself wondering if it's the same time as well, but he didn't really bother with a clock in this place and his phone is upstairs in his apartment. As much as he enjoys it, having a flower shop beneath his living space proves to be a bit inconvenient sometimes.)

“Do you know what carnations mean,” he watches as she leans on the counter and her gaze flickers to his nametag, “Ludwig?”

“No,” he says, realizing he doesn't actually know her name, “I don't know what carnations mean.”

He's still fixing his arrangement, but he know the excuse isn't going to last much longer. A person can only act like they're fixing an already made arrangement for a certain amount of time before it becomes suspicious. He supposes he can just make a new one entirely, but that's taking it too far.

“Hm,” she says, as always – he can't decide whether to associate it with contentment or dissatisfaction.

When he turns again, she's gone and the exact change for the flower is on the counter with a little white note tucked under the coins. Deftly, he unfolds it. This time, it's simply a little black music note – a quarter note.

He almost smiles at it the fourth time.

\-- ♩ --

Ludwig Beilschmidt isn't sure how to feel about her. The eleventh day she comes in, he catches himself waiting, looking forward to it. He isn't sure when he became so accustomed to her daily visits, even if they rarely speak more than three or four sentences to each other every time. The bell dings, he looks up, and there she is, looking at ease today. He isn't sure when he learned how to read her body language, but she seems happier today.

She buys a red tulip the eleventh time.

The woman smiles at him as she approaches and he finds himself cracking something of an awkward smile in return, but he doesn't feel the need to distract himself this time. He eyes the flower in her hands, watching as she runs her fingers over the stem. He doesn't know what tulips mean in flower language; he supposes he should start versing himself in these things.

(Although he won't admit it, just the other day Ludwig had stopped by the bookstore and wound up skimming through books on the language of flowers. He knows he owns a flower shop and now he feels rather ashamed that he doesn't know anything about the flower's language.)

When she braces her arms against the counter, he notices what looks to be black spandex wrist supports she has on. He'd taken them for gloves initially, but looking closer he realizes they're not. Vaguely, he gestures to the black bands.

“May I ask what happened?”

She pauses and looks down. “Oh, nothing bad. I just don't know my limits sometimes. It's the third time I've done this, so it's not unbearable anymore.”

“I see,” said Ludwig, noting the way she skirts around the question itself.

“So, Ludwig,” she says, smiling once more, “do you know what tulips mean?”

“Sorry, my answer is the same as always,” he sighs, “no.”

“Hm,” she tilts her head in a thoughtful manner and pays, leaving.

It isn't until after she leaves and Ludwig is putting the money up that he sees she put another slip of paper in between the bills. It's just a small slip of lined paper that looks as though it was ripped quickly from the original piece. On the inside, a single word is scrawled. Una.

He puts the slip of paper in the back of his phone case the eleventh time.

\-- [Una] --

Ludwig Beilschmidt is beginning to hope he knows what to think of her. The twenty-third time she comes in, she proves him wrong again. She isn't wearing the wrist supports anymore, so he supposes she must have at least healed, but she looks beyond tired. She isn't wearing a beanie and she's dressed simply in comfortable clothing with her hair piled on top of her head in a messy bun. There's a cup in her hand and even from here, he can smell the distinctive scent of Earl Grey.

“Tired?”

(Briefly, it occurs to him that she really does always come around the same time – but it's a very good time. There's rarely anyone in here around now, so they can talk without him having to worry about servicing another customer. A part of him wonders if it's intentional on her part, but maybe she just likes flowers and this happens to be her free time? He isn't sure.)

The dark haired woman looks up, snapping out of her thoughts. “Yeah,” she admits, with a dismissive shrug, “just a bit.”

He doesn't push further. She browses through the flowers for a short while. Ludwig hasn't had the chance to drop by the bookstore or library recently, so he already knows what his answer to her question is going to be. He prepares himself to say it.

She picks a gladiolus the twenty-third time.

“Do you know where the name gladiolus comes from, Ludwig?”

And he falters, “W-Well, of course. It comes from the Latin word gladius, meaning sword. It's named for its leaves.”

“And do you know what the flower means?”

Ah, there's the question he's been waiting for. “No,” he answers as usual, shaking his head.

“Hm,” says the woman, paying without another word.

Ludwig waits until she's gone to search the money. There isn't a note in the bills and he hesitates for just a moment, before moving to walk over to the gladioli. There, set carefully on the windowsill beside one of the pots, is another slip of paper. He unfolds it, revealing one word on the small sheet – no doubt a continuation of the word he'd received the eleventh time. Flor.

He pins the two words up on his wall the twenty-third time.

\-- [Flor] --

Ludwig Beilschmidt likes to think about her. The thirty-first day she comes in, Ludwig greets her familiarly. He hardly bothers with the standard greeting anymore – she can probably parrot it right back at him by now. She looks cheerful again today and Ludwig wonders again when he started looking forward to these daily visits. He doesn't even know what she does with all the flowers, but it's none of his business, in the end.

(It occurs to Ludwig that he still hasn't had a good chance to drop by the bookstore and so he still has yet to pick up that book on flower language. He tries to remember why he never got wifi so he could look these things up, but he can't come up with a good reason as to why he had yet to get it. He could've already solved her questions by now. Now he's not sure if he wants to.)

“So, what are you looking for today?” He asks her.

The brunette looks up, shoving her hands into her pockets and grinning at him. “Who knows?”

Ludwig begins to wonder where she gets the money to pay for all these flowers. He runs a flower shop so he knows flowers are ridiculously expensive. She's been visiting daily for a month and buys a single flower a day, takes them God-knows-where, and always, without fail, asks if he knows what they mean.

She buys a pink orchid the thirty-first time.

Ludwig beats her to the punch, leaning forward on the counter with one eyebrow raised. “Sorry to disappoint, but my answer is still no, as it is.”

The brunette smiles as she purchases the flower. “Hm,” she continues, nodding, and then holds out a small slip of paper to him.

Ludwig accepts it. When she turns and leaves, Ludwig unfolds the slip of paper and, after regarding it for a moment, realizes it's the continuation of the two words she'd sent him before. It was simply one word, scrawled in curling handwriting. 'Para.'

He adds it to the wall with the others the thirty-first time.

\-- [Para] --

And yet.

\-- :) --

She does not return the thirty-ninth day.

Ludwig catches himself searching, frowning.

\-- ♩ --

She does not return the forty-sixth day.

Ludwig closes early.

\-- [Una] --

She does not return the fifty-second day.

A little under two months, and Ludwig realizes he did not know her name.

\-- [Flor] --

She does not return the fifty-ninth day.

Ludwig stares at the incomplete phrase for a long time.

\-- [Para] --

On the sixty-third day, Ludwig looks up to a bouquet of red roses and a smiling, familiar face.

“Hi,” she says, “I'm Blas.”

“Hi,” he whispers to the woman whose very presence had filled the shop for a month, only to suck it void of life for a month and a day following.

He admits it; he missed her.

And Blas grins, hands him that last note. Ti.

“Do you know what roses mean, Ludwig?”

\-- [Una flor para ti // A Flower For You] --

**Author's Note:**

> Lavender roses mean love at first sight. Light red carnations mean admiration. Red tulips mean perfect love. Gladioli can represent infatuation. Pink orchids mean pure affection. A bouquet of roses means 'I love you,' which was mentioned earlier. xD


End file.
